PS: I Love You
by HollyRose31523
Summary: In every relationship there are ups and downs and sometimes even a serious quarrel. But it always takes two to tango …
1. I Would Dye For You

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 1  
**I Would Dye For You**

"You what?"  
It is seriously scary. I have never seen Rory so upset. He is absolutely furious.  
"It was only a suggestion," I try to calm him down – but to no avail.  
"A suggestion?" Rory repeats. "A suggestion!"  
"If I had guessed you would be so angry about it, I would never have asked."  
"I wish you never had asked!" Rory replies. "Dying my hair black! How did you get that stupid idea?"  
I open my mouth, but I have no chance to answer.  
"Oh, I know where it comes from," Rory suspects, jabbing an accusing finger at me. "It's because of this Snape character that you fancy."  
"No!"  
The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it.  
"Well, yes," I admit, reluctantly. "I just thought he looked cool with his long black hair and his black eyes …"  
"Perhaps you also want me to grow my hair Snape-length, then?" Rory asks, sarcastically.  
"Well, you could try …"  
I had better not spoken! Rory grabs a CD from his night stand and throws it against the wall. From the corner of my eyes I notice that it is a sampler that I gave to Daniel, when I dated him briefly, so there is no harm done – not really, except for the CD case that now lies broken on the floor.  
"And what's next?" Rory demands. "Black contacts?"  
This time I am clever enough to hold my tongue. Part of me wishes I had never brought up this subject, but I just couldn't resist. The initial thought had come to me, when Rory gave this almost perfect imitation of Snape's voice the other day and it hit me then and there that he might appear just as dangerously mysterious, if he made a few optical changes, too.  
"Am I supposed to wear only black clothes from now on, too?" Rory continues. "I tell you what, Laura, enough is enough! I would do anything for you, and you know it, but I draw the line at black! My hair will never be dyed black, Laura, do you understand?"  
I nod, quickly.  
"You will never see my hair in that particular colour, is that perfectly clear?"  
"Yes, perfectly," I answer.  
"Good!"  
Rory exhales, folding his arms before his chest.  
"Dying my hair!" he huffs. "I wonder what you would say if I asked you to get your tattoo with my brother's name removed."  
I frown.  
"Do you want me to?" I ask, insecurely.  
"I certainly wouldn't mind if you did."  
I bite my lips.  
"But it would hurt, wouldn't it?" I reply. "Getting it removed."  
"Did it hurt when you got it?"  
A cold shiver is running down my spine as I relive the memory.  
"Hell, yeah."  
"So, what makes you think removing it will be painless?" Rory wants to know.  
I shrug.  
"I don't know," I admit. "I just thought they might use lasers or something …"  
"How should I know what they use," Rory says, evenly. "*I* didn't get a tattoo. *I* didn't get myself branded!"  
"Yeah, rub it in!"  
"I don't need to," Rory snorts. "It's already there."  
I take a deep breath.  
"So, you want it gone?" I ask.  
"So, you want my hair black?" Rory retorts.  
I begin to chew my lower lip. I had never thought this tattoo would bother Rory that much. After all, he had taken me back, despite the fact that I betrayed him with his brother. He forgave me, just like that, and I forgave him for dating my sister in turn. I have never asked if he and Lucy had been intimate. Personally, I doubt it, because Lucy would have told me. Still, I am not quite sure and part of me doesn't really want to know.  
"Look, Rory," I begin after a moment of silence. "It had crossed my mind to get rid of the tattoo a couple of times, but I'm really scared. I'm not sure if it is worth it, you know and you were alright with it, so I figured, you didn't really care about it."  
"Just because I didn't mention it every time I saw it doesn't mean that it didn't bother me."  
I lower my head.  
"You never asked me, 'Rory, do you mind if I kept this tattoo with your brother's name on it?' and it hurt," Rory explains. "You just assumed I would be alright with it and for a moment there, I thought I was alright with it too. But I wasn't. It does bother me. It bothers me no end."  
He exhales, deeply.  
"There, I said it," he adds. "Now you know."  
"Yeah …" I answer. "Now I know."  
Reluctantly, I look up and meet his eyes.  
"You have never really forgiven me, have you?"  
Rory hesitates.  
"I would rather not answer your question," he says, evasively, and it is answer enough.  
I feel my throat tightening. He has definitely not forgiven me. He is still holding a grudge.  
"I think I should go," I suggest silently as I stand.  
Rory makes no move to hold me back – on the contrary.  
"Good idea," he says, plainly.  
That's not a good sign. That's not a good sign at all.  
"Can I call you?" I ask, my voice nearly cracking.  
Rory shakes his head.  
"Better not."  
"I see," I whisper, nodding.  
So this is the end. Well, I don't exactly know, if this is the end, but it certainly feels like it – the end of everything.  
The trouble is that I really did love him. I still do, even more than before, but I feel that it is no use in telling him. So I don't.  
"Bye, Rory."  
"Bye Laura."

It was the last time I hear his voice. However, in my head it is always there – like my conscience that is telling me what to do and how to behave. No matter how hard I try, I cannot shut it out. In a way I am glad about it. I still feel his presence and his voice is a constant reminder that he was actually there.  
As he requested I manage to be brave and don't call him. I do drive by his house, though, waiting patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of him, whenever he walks past the window. Then I feel safe and can go home again.  
But one day my longing gets the better of me. He said I should not call and I didn't – for a whole week I have been strong, but today I decide to finally give in to my weakness.  
Standing in front of his house I pull out my phone and turn it a few times in my hand as if trying to prepare myself for the scolding that awaits me, but just as I bring up the courage to dial his number, my phone starts ringing.  
I catch my breath and stare at the number in disbelief. It's him. He is calling me, at the exact moment when I was about to call him.  
I feel my heart beating fast as I press the button to pick up.  
"Hello?" I ask, timidly.  
My voice sounds as if it doesn't belong to me – but neither does Rory's as he answers.  
"Hi, Laura, it's me."  
"Yeah, I know," I reply. "I saw your number."  
"Really?" Rory asks, astonished. "I thought you might have deleted it …"  
I throw a laugh.  
"No, of course not," I assure him. "I would never …"  
"Laura," Rory interrupts me. "I'm sorry about last week. I said a couple of things I shouldn't have said. They are all not true and, yes, of course, I forgave you. I don't even know why I got so upset in the first place."  
"Because I asked you to dye your hair black," I remind him. "But, Rory, I don't really want you to do that! I like your hair just as it is."  
"Are you sure?"  
"I'm positive," I insist. "So, please, don't dye your hair black, Rory, just because of me, alright?"  
Rory sighs.  
"Too late, I'm afraid."  
I blink a couple of times.  
"No …" I gasp.  
"Yeah …" Rory drawls. "I dyed it today. Jet black. And I didn't get a haircut either."  
"You …"  
"Don't get overexcited," Rory interrupts me quickly. "It is by far not Snape-lengths, but …"  
"Rory, are you insane?"  
"No, Laura, I am in love," Rory replies. "I would have dyed my hair ginger if you had asked me to, because, you know, people do the funniest things, when they are in love, don't they?"  
"Yes, they do," I agree. "Like getting tattoos … and having them removed …"  
"Please, Laura, don't do that," Rory cuts in. "I don't want you to go into surgery to get rid of this stupid thing."  
"But it bothered you."  
"I still don't want you to be in pain, only because I …"  
He pauses in mid-sentence.  
"Hang on a second," he then says, suspiciously. "Did you just say 'bothered'?"  
"I most certainly did."  
"You used past tense on purpose?"  
"Yes."  
There is a moment of silence.  
"So you …" Rory eventually begins. "You got your tattoo surgically removed?"  
"I only got rid of the name," I admit. "That was painful enough."  
"I can imagine," Rory says, compassionately. "Why on earth did you do it that?"  
"Because I love you, Rory Slippery."  
"And I love you, Laura Proek."  
I laugh, relieved.  
"May I see it?" Rory begins, hesitantly. "Your improved tattoo, I mean."  
"Of course."  
"When?" Rory demands.  
"Anytime."  
"Now?" Rory suggests.  
I smile.  
"Can I come in, then?" I ask.  
"Are you …?"  
"Yes, I am standing right outside your door," I confirm, but Rory doesn't reply.  
Instead I hear the phone being flung aside and the sound of receding footsteps. Smiling, I hang up and a moment later the front door is jerked open.  
I facepalm myself as I recognize Rory standing in the doorway, his hair jet black and slightly curly – not a bit like Snape, but absolutely to die for.


	2. A Plain Excursion

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 2  
**A Plain Excursion**

"I am so glad it is finally back to my natural colour."  
Rory ruffles through his hair.  
"Yeah, me too," I admit. "It was a stupid idea to dye it."  
"May I remind you, that it was not *my* idea in the first place?" Rory says, looking at me accusingly.  
"I know, I know …"  
I make a defensive gesture.  
"I'm sorry I even mentioned it."  
"I am glad about your tattoo, though," Rory adds. "The heart looks better without my brother's name written across it."  
"It plainly said 'Daniel'," I argue. "No one would have known that this Daniel was your brother. It could have been any Daniel …"  
"For example?"  
"Daniel Craig, Daniel Radcliffe …"  
"Oh, don't you start!" Rory cuts in. "Daniel Radcliffe?"  
"Sure, why not?"  
Rory scoffs.  
"Two words for you: jail bait."  
He looks at me, seriously.  
"Your precious Harry Potter is underage."  
"He looks older …"  
Rory inhales deeply, scrunching up his face.  
"Do we have to discuss this now, Laura?" he demands. "Actually, I was meaning to run a completely different thought by you, but now I hardly feel like it anymore …"  
"Oh, Rory …" I drawl his name, flapping my eyelashes at him, which usually works. "Not that face …"  
Rolling his eyes Rory falters.  
"Alright, I'll tell you," he gives in. "I was thinking about taking our relationship a bit further."  
"Really?" I gasp. "Are you thinking of a threesome?"  
Rory frowns.  
"No, not exactly," he says, repulsed. "I was more thinking of a mini-break."  
"A mini-break?" I repeat, flatly.  
"Yes, for the bank holiday weekend."  
"Can you get off from Side Street for a whole weekend on such a short notice?"  
"Believe it or not, I can," Rory answers. "I spoke with Paz, Chaz, Maz and Raz, they all agreed, Alec was not too happy and Bolt nearly threw up, when I told him, but in the end he came around, so … I'm free, we can go."  
"Go where?"  
"Wherever you like."  
"Paris?" I suggest.  
Rory frowns.  
"Paris … as in France?"  
I nod.  
"That could be a tad expensive, if we went by plane," Rory adds for consideration. "Besides, I am not too fond of flying."  
"Then we go by car," I answer. "I'm sure your Mum would give us hers …"  
"You want to go to France in an old VW Beetle?"  
"Or we take your Dad's car."  
"Yeah, and then Daniel wants to join us with Lucy and the next thing we know, Edwin and Woj want to come too," Rory supposes. "That's not what I call a romantic weekend."  
"So what do you have in mind?"  
"Wiltshire."  
"Wiltshire?"  
"The county of the White Horse," Rory says, his eyes sparkling. "It is supposed to be great. I hear Stonehenge rocks. What do you think?"  
"I'm thrilled," I reply, totally unexcited.  
"And the big advantage would be that we can take Estelle's car."  
"So it's okay to drive to Wiltshire in your Mum's car, but we can't use it to get to Paris?" I sum up the facts. "Rory, I don't see why there is so much difference, honestly."  
"Well, for once, Wiltshire is in England and Paris is in France."  
"Rory, I may be a little dim, but I know a wee bit about geometry."  
Rory chuckles, hiding his smile behind his hand, but somehow it even upsets me more.  
"What?" I demand. "What's so funny? What did I say?"  
"You said 'geometry'."  
"Yeah, so?"  
"So you meant 'geography'."  
"Isn't that the same?"  
"Not at all," Rory replies. "Shall I explain the difference?"  
"Thank you, but no thank you!" I refuse.  
"Are you quite sure?"  
"Look, I am not in school anymore," I clarify. "So don't try to teach me a lesson."  
"Don't you mean 'learn' me a lesson?" Rory teases and I frown confused.  
"What is this, Rory, a grammar class for blondes?"  
"It would be semantics class, if anything."  
"Are you trying to be clever?" I hiss.  
"I don't need to," Rory retorts, dryly. "I am clever."  
"Oh, more clever than me?"  
"Cleverer.  
"Oh, I've had it with you, Rory!"  
Angrily, I slam my fist on the table.  
"Why do you go out with me, if you think I am stupid?"  
"I don't think you are stupid, Laura."  
"Then don't treat me like a moron."  
With that I stand, and hurry out of the room, but I don't get too far. I have not even reached the front door, when Rory has already caught up.  
"Laura, I'm sorry," he says, grabbing my arm, but I quickly wriggle out of his grasp.  
"Let me go!"  
Harshly, I struggle myself free and run out of the house, not looking back.  
This time, Rory doesn't follow.

By the evening I feel pretty stupid about my behaviour and especially about myself. At first I thought I was absolutely right, but when I looked up 'geometry' and 'geography' in the internet as well as 'grammar' and 'semantics' I soon realized, how silly I have been, mixing these terms up. Rory definitely is cleverer than me and yet, I am too proud to call him to apologize. Maybe tomorrow I will bring up the courage to say I'm sorry, but not tonight.  
Unfortunately, my bad conscience is nearly eating me up and when I am finally lying in bed I am far away from sleep. Tossing and turning I consider my options. It is not even midnight – it is certainly not too late to make a phone call to Rory.  
Quickly, I get up and pull out my phone, when a knock at my door makes me flinch.  
"Yes?" I ask, startled.  
The door opens a crack and my father peeks in.  
"Are you decent?" he asks.  
"Of course I am decent, come in."  
"I meant, are you decent to receive a visitor?" Dad elaborated.  
"A visitor?" I repeat, suspiciously.  
Dad smiles.  
"It's your boyfriend."  
"Rory?"  
"Yes, of course Rory, how many boyfriends do you have?"  
"I'm not sure," I admit. "Hopefully one, still."  
"And he is here," Dad explains. "Do you want to see him?"  
"I don't know," I reply. "Does he look angry?"  
"No, he looks quite relaxed," Dad answers. "And he has a dufflebag with him. I didn't know he wanted to sleep over."  
"I don't believe he wants to sleep over," I say, slowly. "Did he say anything?"  
"Only that he wished to see you."  
I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst.  
"Call him in, please."  
Apparently, Dad doesn't have to. As soon as I have said it the door opens wider and Rory appears next to my Dad, the expression on his face unreadable.  
"I guess I leave you two love birds alone," Dad smirks and with that he leaves.  
For a moment Rory and I stand quietly in the room, none of us speaking, until I finally bring up the courage to talk first.  
"Rory …"  
"Laura."  
Damn. He is not making it easy this time.  
"What brings you here?" I ask.  
"I thought I should drop by before I left."  
I swallow hard.  
"You …" I begin, insecurely. "You want to leave?"  
"Yep."  
He pops the 'p' in a very casual way and at any other occasion I would have laughed. Funnily, though, today I don't find it amusing.  
"Where to, may I ask?"  
"On a holiday."  
"I see …"  
I bite my lips.  
"For the weekend?" I presume. "Or longer?"  
"No, just a mini-break," Rory confirms and smirks. "You want to come?"  
I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  
"Hell, yeah!" I exclaim, practically jumping at Rory as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Where are we going?"  
"Paris, of course," Rory answers. "I filled up Estelle's car, so it should bring us to Calais at least, but then we must find a petrol station or we will have to hitch-hike through France."  
"Your Mum gave you her car?"  
"She did."  
"Does she know that we are going on a mini-break?"  
"Yes.  
"Does she know, *where* we are going to?"  
"That I thought wise not to tell her," Rory replies. "She will murder me, when she sees the mileage on her car, if it ever makes it back, but I hope I can run fast enough."  
"You can hide here at my place," I offer.  
"She will find me, but it is certainly worth a try."  
"Alright, she will find you, but she won't bite your head off," I add for consideration. "You are her son."  
"Well, she has got spares …"  
"But you are her favourite."  
"It doesn't matter," Rory says, plainly. "When it comes to her car, Estelle won't show mercy to anyone."  
I bite my lip, thoughtfully.  
"We could make a change of plans, of course, and only go to Wiltshire," I then suggest. "It's supposes to be great. And I hear Stonehenge rocks."  
"Would that be alright with you?"  
"Everything is alright with me as long as I am with you."  
"Then get your toothbrush," Rory commands. "I will wait for you in the car."  
Reluctantly, I let go of him and smile.  
"I really love you, Rory Slippery," I say, softly.  
"And I really love you, Laura Proek," Rory answers.


	3. Stonehenge Rocks

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 3  
**Stonehenge Rocks**

"So, here we are."  
Rory turns off the engine of the car and pulls the brake.  
"Stonehenge."  
"Finally," I groan, trying to stretch my stiff limbs. "I thought we would never arrive."  
"Actually, neither did I," Rory admits. "We practically used up the last drop of petrol. Estelle never mentioned that this car was such a fuel-guzzler."  
"There are a lot of things that your Mum never mentioned about this car before," I remark, sarcastically. "For example the limited leg space."  
"Well, a VW Beetle is not exactly a limousine."  
"Yes, I have noticed," I reply. "Can we get out now? I desperately need the loo."  
Together we leave the car and slam the doors shut. There is metal clinging that both of us perceive, but choose to ignore.  
"It's windy," I maintain instead. "I guess I need my scarf after all."  
With that open my door again and crawl into the car. Unfortunately, we have packed so much stuff that it isn't easy to find anything on the small back seat, so it takes me quite a while and much of my contortion skill to finally get what I want. Panting, I struggle out of the car and shut the door again, more carefully this time.  
"So where is the entrance?" Rory asks.  
"Where are the loos?" I retort, wrapping the scarf around my neck.  
We look around and find both the reception and the lavatories, but in opposite directions.  
"I'll get the tickets," Rory offers. "You may go to the ladies'. I'll wait for you at the entrance."  
I nod and make my way to the lavatories, which to my surprise are in pretty good shape, despite their poor outward appearance, but they also hopelessly overcrowded.  
Only ten minutes later I meet Rory at the ticket office, rolling my eyes.  
"So many tourists," I groan. "Where do they all come from?"  
"The whole world," Rory presumes. "We should be lucky that we got a parking space."  
"Yes, but you could have parked a bit nearer to the edge," I reply. "The car stands out almost three feet. I noticed as I walked by when I came for the loos."  
"I imagine I did park near to the edge," Rory muses. "Curious."  
"Oh, well, never mind!"  
I make a dismissive gesture.  
"No one will notice."  
Rory nods and takes my hand.  
"Do you have the tickets?" I ask.  
Rory holds out two small pieces of paper.  
"We are ready to go."  
Smiling we make our way to the entrance and from there through a small tunnel underneath the road. It is windy and I am glad that I have fetched my scarf, which I pull tighter around my neck.  
"Aren't you cold?" I ask Rory.  
"I'm freezing," he replies. "I have never expected this place to be so chilly. I should have put on that wooly hat your mother gave me."  
"Do you want my scarf?" I offer.  
"No, you keep it," Rory refuses. "I'm fine."  
But he isn't. I can tell as we emerge the tunnel on the other side. He is shaking and unfortunately it has even begun raining. Only a slight drizzle, but in addition to the wind it is very uncomfortable. Still, despite the bad weather we manage to walk around the stone circle, stopping here, taking a photograph there, while admiring the impressive stone formation.  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rory says in awe.  
I only nod.  
"It makes you feel humble," he adds, quietly. "Standing in front of such an ancient construct, built centuries ago …"  
"You are sweet," I tell him with a smile, cuddling against him.  
Rory wraps his arms around me and plants a kiss on my head.  
"Thanks for coming here with me," he whispers against my hair.  
"Thanks for taking me."  
"I would have never gone without you."  
I look up to him.  
"I love you, Rory Slippery."  
"I love you, Laura Proek."  
We stand there for a while, just looking at each other, forgetting everything around us – the wind, the rain, the people, even the crows flying over our heads, cawing excitedly as if they wanted to defend the stones from the gazes of the tourists.  
Finally, we move on again, accompanied by the baaing of the sheep that are grazing nearby. A lot of people come our way. We have to walk one behind the other to get through the tunnel and nearly loose each other in the crowd. But Rory is not someone, who can be overlooked easily. He is at least half a foot taller than everybody else, because most of the tourists, I recognize, are Asian and very small.  
I take my time, following Rory through the crush of people, but I stop abruptly in my pace as I notice a man, a member of the Stonehenge staff judging from his clothes, who is holding up a sign. "RXL 92E" is written on it in neat letters and having a presentiment I quickly hurry after Rory and tug at his sleeve.  
"What's the licence plate number of your mum's car?" I demand.  
"RXL 92E," Rory replies. "Why?"  
I feel a cold shiver running down my spine and it has nothing to do with the chilly wind.  
"Then I guess we should talk to the guy over there," I suggest, pointing at the man with the sign.  
"Which guy?"  
"The guy holding up the sign, reading 'RXL 92E'," I explain.  
I can literally watch Rory paling.  
"That's not good," he mumbles as he slowly heads for the member of the Stonehenge staff and he looks a bit like a condemned man, walking to the gallows.  
"Is that your car, sir?" the guy with the sign asks, as we approach. "RXL 92E?"  
"Yes …"  
"A blue VW Beetle?"  
Rory nods.  
"Yes."  
His voice is almost a whisper.  
"What happened?"  
The man lowers the sign and clears his throat.  
"Will you please come with me, sir?"

***

Numbly I stand next to Rory, who looks devastated at the ruins of Estelle's old car that are smashed against a large rock opposite our initial parking space. There is nothing much left of it. Half of the rear is missing, probably dented.  
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," Phil, as the member of the Stonehenge staff had introduced himself, says, miserably. "But I think your car is not fit for driving anymore."  
Rory doesn't say a thing. He only stares at the wreck.  
"Luckily, no one else was hurt," Phil continues. "Not even another car got damaged. Only …"  
"Estelle's," I finish the sentence, wrapping my arm soothingly around Rory, who is still stunned.  
"She'll kill me," he says, flatly. "With pain, probably."  
Phil clears his throat.  
"If you'll excuse my saying, sir," he begins. "It's only an old car. The brakes were probably a little faulty and if you park hillside, things like these can easily happen."  
Rory shakes his head.  
"No, it is my fault," he contradicts. "I must have forgotten to pull the brake, when I parked the car."  
"There you go, sir," Phil says, matter-of-factly. "Be grateful nothing more happened, then."  
"How could I forget to pull the brake?" Rory groans, facepalming himself and it is then that it suddenly comes to my mind again.  
He did pull the brake. I remember it quite distinctly. And it was probably me, who released the brake somehow, when I was looking for my scarf. So it was my fault – not Rory's. I know I should tell him, but cowardice gets the better of me and I hold my tongue.  
"I took the liberty of informing the breakdown service," Phil intervenes. "They will tow the car and take it to a garage. You can decide what happens with the wreck then."  
"We will have it repaired, of course," Rory says, desperately. "Surly there must be someone in this county, who can fix the car before we have to go home."  
"All repair services are closed for Bank Holiday weekend," Phil says, regretfully. "Besides, sir, my brother-in-law owns an autoshop, so I know the ropes a little and if you don't mind my saying, this car is beyond repair."  
"No!" Rory yells. "No, I won't accept that! There must be another option!"  
"I'm afraid the only option for your car is the junk yard."  
Groaning, Rory runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in denial – and we are not even in Egypt.  
"Look, sir," Phil tries to reason with him. "The engine of this vehicle is in the back of the car and, obviously, the back of the car is spread all over the rock. Face the facts, sir – this motor is done for."  
"I am done for," Rory replies. "Estelle will never forgive me. She loves this car. The only chance I have is to run away as far as my feet will carry me, possibly even leave the country and hide somewhere at the ends of the earth. But I fear not even there I will be safe. Estelle will hunt me down with knives and when she finds me, she will skin me."  
"Sounds terrifying," Phil says, scratching his head. "Who is this Estelle lady, anyway?"  
"His mum," I answer, darkly. "And if you think he is exaggerating … think again!"  
"His mum …"  
Phil inhales deeply.  
"Yeah, mums can be scary," he admits. "I remember when I totalled my first car a couple of decades ago. Mind you, it was my own car, but that didn't keep my mum from giving me a good telling-off."  
"Yes, thank you," Rory says, flatly. "You are encouragingly helpful."  
Phil touches his hat.  
"Always at your service, sir."  
"Maybe we should phone Estelle first to give her some sort of warning?" I suggest, hesitantly. "If we tell her now on the phone, she can't harm us, can she?"  
"No, not immediately," Rory confirms. "But she will wait for us armed to the teeth with torches and pitchforks until we return and then she will rip my head off."  
He chuckles, as if the thought amuses him.  
"I never thought I would ever be so scared to get home."  
Phil shakes his head, compassionately.  
"I'm very sorry, sir," he repeats. "If there is anything else I can do to help …"  
Rory sighs.  
"You don't happen to have a time machine at hand?"  
"That's a piece of fiction, sir," Phil replies, dryly. "No such thing as a time machine does exist and if it did, I would probably not be standing here with you right now."  
"Good point," I admit. "So there is nothing left to do?"  
"I could phone a taxi to get you home," Phil offers.  
I nod, admitting that this is the only plan that makes sense.  
"Alright, let's get our stuff from the boot and the back of the car, then," I decide with a sigh, but Rory doesn't move.  
He is standing there like frozen to the spot even though the temperature is not even near below zero.  
"Rory?" I ask, prompting.  
I don't receive a reply and from his face I can tell that he is actually scared to death whereas the death part isn't the scariest thing. It's the impending killing process that obviously troubles him.


	4. Keeping Mum

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 4  
**Keeping Mum**

"Do you have any idea how to get out this alive?"  
I look at Rory concerned as we are standing in front of the Slippery house. Rory looks even more worried than I do and I don't blame him. It is his life that is at stake here, for his Mum's car was his responsibility, therefore it was his fault that it got totalled and consequently he has to suffer the consequences.  
"One," Rory replies, his face as white as the Cliffs of Dover. "I hope it works."  
"Care to fill me in?"  
"You will see."  
"And what do I do?" I ask, uneasily. "I mean, I was with you on that trip and in the car. What if she comes after me?"  
"No, you are pretty much out of the woods," Rory presumes. "Wiltshire, Stonehenge – that was entirely my idea. I drove the car, I parked it hillside, so I must undertake the fallout."  
I swallow hard.  
"Any chance in wishing you good luck?"  
Rory scoffs.  
"I need as much luck as possible," he says, darkly. "So go ahead."  
"Good luck," I mumble.  
"Thanks."  
Rory exhales deeply.  
"Alright …" he then drawls. "Let's go in."  
I grab his arm and Rory looks at me.  
"Aren't you … afraid?" I ask him.  
Rory chuckles.  
"No, Laura," he answers. "I am scared out of my wits."  
"Fair enough," I reply, preparing myself for the bloodbath that I will have to witness in the next couple of minutes – or as soon as Rory has told his mum that she will never see her beloved car again.  
I feel a huge lump growing in my throat as we enter the house and walk into the living room.  
Paul is sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine, Estelle is standing at the window and turns as we enter, only Daniel and Edwin are nowhere to be seen.  
"Oh, hello you two," Paul greets us, looking up, astonished. "Back so soon? Well, that's a surprise! We didn't expect you to arrive before Monday, actually. And now you are here! Two days early! How was your trip? Nice?"  
"Yes, quite nice," I answer, exchanging a glance with Rory.  
He looks as if he is waiting for the axe to fall – and he doesn't have to wait long.  
"I didn't hear you coming," Estelle establishes. "Normally I recognize the sound of my car. Where did you park?"  
Rory swallows hard, then he closes his eyes for a second, before striding determined towards Estelle.  
"Rory?" she asks, confused, but he doesn't reply.  
Instead he falls to his knees as he reaches her and raises his hands, pleadingly.  
"Mum, I am sorry," he says, his voice shaking. "I am so, so sorry, Mum, please, don't kill me. Please."  
Estelle blinks. Then she glances at me, briefly, before she looks down at Rory again.  
"What do you mean, 'Don't kill me.'?" she demands.  
"Please, Mum," Rory continues. "I really don't expect you to forgive me, but, Mum, and I swear I will do anything, if only you spare my life, alright?"  
"I don't understand this, Rory," Estelle confesses. "Did you have a mind changing experience in Wiltshire that you are planning to take drama classes now?"  
I lower my head.  
"That's one way of putting it," I mutter under my breath.  
Inwardly I applaud Rory for his brilliant acting skills. There are indeed hidden treasures buried inside my boyfriend. But then I suddenly realize that it is not acting at all. He is definitely scared to death.  
Yes, he did mention more than once, how much Estelle loves her car and that she would be furious, if anything happened to it, but I never believed that anything as drastic as falling to his knees and begging for mercy would be necessary to save his own skin. Rory is her favourite son, after all.  
"Mum, please," Rory adds, wringing his hands. "Please, I beg you …"  
Estelle folds her arms before her chest.  
"Stop this, Rory," she commands. "Tell me what you are talking about and, for God's sake, get up!"  
Hanging his head, Rory struggles to his feet, but he doesn't dare to look at Estelle.  
"I …" Rory begins, hesitantly. "I … sort of … totalled … your car …"  
His voice is barely a whisper, but since it is dead calm in the room all of a sudden, everyone has heard his words.  
"You what?" Estelle gasps.  
"I'm sorry, Mum," Rory apologizes. "It was an accident … it was …"  
"It was my fault, Estelle," I cut in, striding forward and stand beside Rory.  
He looks at me flabbergast and so does Estelle.  
"Alright," she says, calmly. "Elaborate."  
"I accidently must have released the brake, when I was searching for my scarf in the backseat and since we had parked slightly hillside …"  
I pause, biting my lips.  
"I didn't tell Rory, because I thought he would get mad, but it was definitely my mistake that the car eventually rolled backwards."  
"Were you still inside?" Paul asks in shock. "Either of you?"  
I shake my head.  
"No," I answer. "Then we could have stopped the car in time, couldn't we?"  
"True," Paul admits.  
"We were visiting Stonehenge and when we came out, a guy named Phil was already waiting for us and informed us about what had happened."  
I lower my head.  
"It is entirely my fault, Estelle," I repeat. "I'm sorry. Please, don't kill Rory. Or me … or anyone for that matter, please! I mean …"  
I stop, when suddenly Phil's words spring to my mind.  
"It was only an old car, wasn't it?" I blurt out.  
Rory staring at me as if I had lost a marble or two, Paul is staring at me as if I had gone insane and Estelle is staring at me with an expression on her face that I cannot possibly decipher. She is so calm that it is positively scary and something tells me not to trust her apparent serenity.  
There is a long silence and it is weighing heavy on my shoulders. I wish Estelle would yell at me. I wish she would slap my face. I wish she would go berserk. But she doesn't. She just keeps staring at me.  
"Say something," I finally demand. "Anything. Please."  
Estelle takes a deep breath.  
"I guess I should have told you about the faulty brake …"  
Gaping, Rory and I look at each other.  
"You mean …" Rory begins, but doesn't finish the sentence.  
"Yes," Estelle admits. "The brake didn't work properly anymore. That's why I never parked hillside lately. Or if I did I put a rock under the back tyre."  
"The rock in the boot," Rory muses, quietly. "I always wondered what it was there for …"  
"So, it wasn't even my fault that the car rolled backwards?" I ask for the avoidance of doubt.  
"No, Laura, it wasn't your fault."  
Estelle smiles apologetically.  
"And you are right, of course," she adds with a sigh. "It was only an old car."  
Rory lets out a gasp.  
"But Mum!" he exclaims. "You love that car!"  
Still smiling, Estelle cups Rory's face with both her hands.  
"Yes, darling, but I love you more," she answers. "And I am so glad that neither of you were harmed in the accident or anyone else."  
"No, no one was harmed," I reply. "Only the huge rock that the car bumped into."  
"I wouldn't worry too much about that rock," Rory says, dryly. "It still looked pretty fine to me after the metal had been scraped off of it."  
I bite my lip, torn between bursting out laughing and breaking down crying, but as always it is Paul, who comes up with the best solution.  
"Well, then, tea anyone?" he ask, putting away his paper. "Shall I put the kettle on?"

***

We don't talk about the matter anymore. The whole afternoon passes without mentioning the car or the faulty brake as we have tea and biscuits and when Edwin, who joins us later, asks about our trip, we both find ourselves replying the same: uneventful.  
It is not until much later, when we are back at Rory's place that I broach the matter again.  
"I can't believe she didn't tell us," I establish as I put down my travel bag. "Why didn't she tell us, Rory?"  
He shrugs.  
"Beats me."  
"Maybe she was afraid to admit that her car wasn't that fit for driving anymore," I muse. "Maybe she had hoped something like this might happen."  
Rory frowns, sitting on his bed.  
"Now, that's a little far-fetched, don't you think?"  
"Yes, maybe," I admit with a sigh. "But I am glad that she didn't go mad or something."  
"Me too."  
Rory looks relieved.  
"On our ride back home I was mentally settling my affairs already."  
"I thought as much," I reply. "You were awfully quiet."  
"Most of all I was worried about you," he adds. "How you would take it … and what became of you …"  
"Hmmm …" I muse. "I had probably dated Daniel again …"  
Rory gapes at me.  
"You wouldn't."  
"Naaahhh," I say with a grin. "I am so over Daniel. There are no words how over I am with him. I would have to invent a new word."  
"Good to know."  
Rory smiles.  
"Come here for a second."  
Slowly I walk over to him and slump on the bed beside him.  
"What now?" I ask. "We have a whole Bank Holiday weekend before us. What are we going to do with it?"  
"Actually, I can think of a thing or two …"  
"Not another trip, please," I groan.  
"No, I am pretty fed up with trips," Rory answers. "I was more thinking of staying in … ordering take out … watching DVDs …"  
Gently, I run my fingers through his hair.  
"I love you, Rory Slippery," I whisper.  
"I love you, Laura Proek," he replies, leaning in and our foreheads are almost touching, when …  
"Oh, I know a good film we could watch!" I destroy the romance. "'Stonehenge Apocalypse'."  
Instantly, Rory backs away, scrunching up his face.  
"This is so not funny, Laura!" he scolds me.  
"I'm sorry," I apologize, but I cannot really hide my grin.  
"I have had enough of stones for a lifetime!" Rory growls. "And rocks, for that matter."  
"I was only teasing," I reply, apologetically. "There is no such film and if there was, I certainly wouldn't want to watch it."  
Rory looks content again.  
"That is the correct answer," he says, softly, leaning in again. "Now … where were we?" 


End file.
